She started to lie about it, to make a smart quip, to quote something self protectively.
Then she stopped herself.
In the end, she shook her head. "I don't want to," she admitted.
She bit her lip a moment, then she picked up the gauze and the ointment, and she walked toward the kitchen. She let her hand trail along his stomach as she moved past him. It was almost imperceptible through the blanket, but the look she gave him was warm, unguarded.
She continued toward the kitchen, and she looked over her shoulder once to ensure he'd gone to change, having sensed his self consciousness with only the blanket as a shield.